Gladly Beyond Any Experience
by Alethnya
Summary: A series of one-shots revolving around my story, Somewhere I Have Never Travelled. If you've been reading that story and have ever wanted to get a taste of Khan's perspective...here you go! Rated M for some eventual sexytimes.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So...a few months ago, I invited a few friends of my story Somewhere I Have Never Travelled to select certain chapters from the story that they wanted to see written from Khan's perspective. This is the first that I have actually managed to finish (others will be coming!). I will try to keep them fairly chronological, but no promises! I do promise though that I will clearly label them to avoid as much confusion as possible.**

**The following is Chapter 10 from SIHNT from His Majesty's perspective. ****Amusingly enough, I was SUPPOSED to have written Chapter 11 instead...however, when I posted this to tumblr a while back, the reception was fairly good. So I decided to just go with it!**

**And to the ladies involved in choosing the chapters (and you know who you are!)...keep heart! I haven't forgotten! You shall have your chapters yet! ;)**

**Thanks, as always, to my beta, my sister, my friend, Xaraphis. You're the bestest baby sis in the whole wide world.**

* * *

_Chapter 10_

* * *

He woke with a shout, bolting upright, limbs tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. Heart hammering violently in his chest as he stared unseeingly into the darkness, Khan fought against the last, fading echoes of his dreams.

Dreams…_nightmares…_

Like nightly plagues, they haunted him. Images of suffering. Of blood. Of fire and pain and swift, violent death. They looped through his mind like a film reel, endless possibilities clawing at his insides and leaving him raw, wrecked. Khan brought his hands to his face, pressing the heels of his palms hard against his eyes, fingers curling painfully into his hair, his scalp. He embraced the sting, welcomed the pain – sharp and clean as it licked along his nerves, burning through the sickening taint of lingering fears.

_You cross me, Khan, and I'll __**end **__them. I'll kill every…single…one of them and you better believe I'll make you __**watch**_**. **

Those words, sneering and hard, seared through him, taunting and lashing in equal measure. It was too much. He needed to move – to _breathe_ – lest the storm of his anger shatter the control that he fought so _hard _to maintain. Throwing himself from the bed, he began to pace, bare feet silent against the chill floor, his hands in his hair, gripping hard as he fought to leash his fury.

Too soon, he was at the far side of the room, the wall looming up before him and making his anger burn all the hotter. He spun round, growling and stalked back the way he had come. He _hated _this room, these quarters – hated everything about this future he had been thrust into. Nothing but steel and glass, cold and frustratingly utilitarian where he longed for the warm, sumptuous opulence of a long gone past.

He ached for the scalding heat of a noonday sun and the lazy warmth of a moonlit night. For soaring palaces of intricately carved sandstone with wide floors of cool, white marble, shot through with veins of gold. For the tactile delight of smooth silks and rough brocades against his skin. For air sweetened by the perfume of jasmine and champa and spiced by the mingled scents of cardamom and clove, cinnamon and coriander.

He longed for the familiar, for _home_, with a bitter intensity that was difficult enough to swallow on a good day. Now, that yearning swelled to bursting inside of him, stealing his breath as he stumbled to a stop, the walls suddenly pressing in on him.

The room was too small, too _close_ and he made for the door, seeking the relative comfort of the far larger – though no less utilitarian – lounge beyond. Stopping in the middle of the room, he braced himself on the sleek, squared back of the chair nearest to him with one long fingered hand. He sucked in long, deep breaths, allowing each one to escape slowly from between his pursed lips, feeling the constriction in his chest loosen with every exhalation.

It was a relief – the openness of the space around him, the chill of the empty air against his heated skin – and he took it in, soaked it up. Finally, feeling slightly less _caged_, he pushed himself away from the chair and began to pace again. Up and down the room he stalked, arms held behind his back, hands clasped together tight. His eyes stared blankly forward, boring into the darkness that he could see through as plainly as daylight and yet seeing nothing of the room around him.

The film reel in his head was turning again, spinning out images behind his eyes – scenes from the past, faces that he had not seen in hundreds – _hundreds!_ – of years. They were all there in his mind's eye, exactly as they had been when last he saw them. But those diamond bright memories were a sword that cut both ways, deeply. Blessing, yes; but so too a curse like no other. They were all there, in flawless detail. Every man who had been his brother, every woman who had been his sister – they formed ranks in his mind, their eyes on him, a twisting kaleidoscope of disapproval. He could hear them too – a cacophony of tones and timbres as their voices swirled around one another, combined and then raised as one…paralyzing him…accusing him…

Condemning him.

_You failed us_.

Letting out a sharp, snarling growl, Khan struck out blindly. His fist slammed hard into the nearest surface, the groan and grind of bowing metal loud in the silence. Standing there – his mind gone gloriously blank for the moment – he blinked hard, banishing a burn from his eyes. A burn which he _refused _to call tears.

Not out of shame, that denial – no, never that. Tears had their place and their time. But this…this was neither.

Straightening, he turned his eyes to the wall in front of him, his lips thinning unhappily when he saw just what had borne the brunt of his outburst. He eased his hand from the twisted wreckage, examining his undamaged knuckles perfunctorily before returning his attention to the mess that he had made.

The food synthesizer would not, he feared, be useful for synthesizing much of anything any longer.

With a sigh, Khan turned, eyes drawn to the door that led to the other room of the flat– _her _door. Lieutenant Rebecca Duval. His _keeper_.

She was going to be quite irritatingly put out when she discovered that he had ruined the source of her morning coffee. Guilt, faint but unmistakable, stirred in his gut, inconvenient and galling. He did not want to care in the slightest about her inevitable disappointment. That he _did _was irritating enough; that the catalyst in this case was something as ridiculous as a cup of _coffee_ made the whole thing infinitely worse.

A muffled sound from within her room caught his ear and he went still, eyes riveted to her door. Another low hum sounded then – a sleepy murmur that faded away into a gentle sigh, the cadence of her breath soft and delicate and already far too familiar. He took an irresistible step forward, listening intently…but after several long moments of silence, his tension eased.

Still asleep.

And, as she had been accumulating a rather impressive sleep debt of late, likely to remain so for several more hours at least.

Turning slightly, he shifted his gaze from her door to the synthesizer and then back again.

He supposed that he could attempt to repair the damage his carelessness had wrought. He glanced toward his room, lips pressing together into a thin, contemplative line as he considered it. He _did _have a veritable cornucopia of parts and pieces stockpiled in his room – every spare drawer teeming with various bits and bobs, supplies necessary for those times when he could not bear to face the false-bright torrent of 23rd century life beyond their door. He looked back to the synthesizer, eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side.

Perhaps, if repair proved feasible, he might even attempt to _improve_ its functionality...

Either way, he would have made the effort. She would appreciate _that_ at the very least.

As he made his way back into his room, already assembling a mental checklist of potentially useful items, he very consciously chose not to reflect on just how far he had fallen.

* * *

"What did you _do_?"

His jaw clenched, the honest dismay in her voice sparking that tiny flame of guilt anew. He lowered his head and gave a particularly rough twist to the bolt he was tightening on the very large weapon resting across his lap. "You are referring, I assume, to the synthesizer…"

"You _killed _it," she cut in, accusation thick in her deceptively sweet voice. "Why would you kill our synthesizer?"

She sounded so thrown – so wholly perplexed – that his guilt swelled. As it swelled, so too did his disgust. Bad enough that he had been bested by that pitiful excuse for _technology_; now he wanted nothing more than to _apologize _for it.

How far the mighty had fallen, indeed.

"I was testing a hypothesis."

Khan took some small comfort from the fact that he at least _sounded_ unaffected.

"The last time you did that, I spent two days in a coma."

It was astounding to him sometimes, how sharp that habitually soft drawl could go when provoked. In fact, the same could be said of the woman in her entirety – she could be…_impressive _in her anger. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder in her boots, but she loomed far larger in the landscape of his mind.

Of course, she also suffered the most appalling tendency toward exaggeration. Far better to focus on _that_.

"Specious," he barked, "and hyperbolic besides – you were not, in fact, in a coma." He cranked the bolt again, old guilt compounding with new and making him very much want to break something. "And while your temporary incapacitation was regrettable, it was hardly the intended outcome. It was merely an unavoidable side-effect of my end goal, which was, I might add, achieved to the satisfaction of all involved."

He did not look up, keeping his eyes firmly on the prototype in his lap, though he could feel her looking at him – _glaring _at him, more like, if the weight of that gaze was anything to go by. He could picture the arch of her dark brow in his mind's eye – the left, _always _the left – and the precise jut of her pointed chin. If there was one expression that he had grown familiar with over the weeks of their association, it was most assuredly her _glare_.

"So is _that_," he could see the angry motion of her head toward the synthesizer at the very edge of his periphery, "another regrettably unavoidable side-effect? Because if that was your _end goal_…"

"It is hardly _my _fault," he snapped, his temper boiling over ever so slightly, "that the machine was in such ill-repair." He lowered the ratchet, head coming up and eyes meeting hers over the top of the counter that stood between them. She was a mess – dark circles beneath her eyes, uniform shirt wrinkled, hair tied into a drooping, half-hearted knot at the back of her head, a single tendril hanging lower than the rest. He followed the fall of that lone curl, tracing it as it kissed the delicate skin beneath her jaw. It would be soft, he imagined. Soft and _warm_; a tactile haven, so very different from the rest of this austere existence he had been thrust into. His fingers clenched around the wrench, which bowed slightly in his grasp as he forced his gaze back to her face.

She was a mess – and he was a man whose entire existence had been spent in strictly regimented order.

And yet…

He had never realized just how tempting _dis_order could be…

Giving himself a sharp mental shake, Khan lifted his chin, pushing those horribly inconvenient thoughts to the wayside. "I had intended," he continued, irritated by his momentary distraction, "to improve its function, as per your contention that its performance was less than it should have been. No sooner had I set to work when the entire system shorted out."

He dropped his head, fingers flicking sullenly at the quick release on the back of the ratchet. "Yet another example of substandard engineering in a facility full of them."

It was true enough – had the machine been better built, he might have had some chance of actually repairing it. But it had been beyond saving, despite his best intentions. He saw no need to mention any more than that. As he had done away with all the damaged bits when it became clear the machine was destined for the scrap heap, she would certainly never be the wiser.

Based on the pointed silence that met his last words, he counted himself wise for staying silent on that score. It appeared that the temper he seemed so peculiarly gifted at provoking had fuel enough as it was without adding his own culpability to the fire.

"You kept me up until nearly dawn," she drawled, her accent blunting what her frustration had honed. His eyes drifted back up to her, reading the tension around her mouth and the glint of fire in her eyes. "You've kept me up until nearly dawn every night for over a week. I'm at the mercy of your genes and your genius and between the two of them, I'm just about to the end of my rope. I'm doing my absolute best to deal with all of this, but that's going to be so much harder to manage if I can't even get…"

"…your morning coffee." He dropped his eyes once more, seating the socket on yet another bolt and giving it a crank – reluctant to draw attention to the uncharacteristic surge of generosity that had seen him navigating the chaos of the mess hall less than an hour ago. "I am well aware of your habits at this point, Lieutenant. If you had bothered to look beyond the synthesizer, you would have seen the cup of coffee that I procured from the mess this morning."

Determinedly _not _looking at her, he focused on the weapon in his lap. The silence stretched, and for several moments, he heard nothing at all. Then, in swift succession came the light shuffle of her step as she moved to the table, the lap of the coffee against the sides of the cup when she took it in hand and then, once more…_silence_.

Silence where there should have been the atrociously uncouth slurp that heralded her very first sip of a fresh cup of coffee.

Khan frowned, popping the socket off the wrench and plucking the next size up from the heap of tools laid out around him on the floor. "It is prepared to your liking," he assured, fitting the new socket onto the drive before setting to work at a new line of bolts. "Or as close as may be – the synthesizer in the mess was not programmed for chicory coffee."

Silence. And then…

"You really do pay attention, don't you?"

He stopped, ratchet pausing mid-turn, and looked up at her. Her expression was guarded, as usual, though he was pleased to detect a hint of real surprise in the tiny gather between her brows and the slight part of her lips. Thoroughly proud of himself for eliciting even that much of a reaction from her, he let his inappropriately good humor show on his face. He arched a brow, smirk tugging at the right hand corner of his mouth.

It would likely result in yet another of those slit-eyed glares she so favored, but he could not bring himself to care. From nearly the first moment he had laid eyes upon her, she had been knocking him back on his heels with maddening regularity – it was heartening to know that he might, in fact, be capable of returning the favor every now and again. For that, he would suffer her ire gladly.

But then, in true Lieutenant Rebecca Duval fashion, she defied his expectations yet again. Rather than the sharpness he had anticipated, her lips curved up into a bright but tentative grin. There was something so hesitantly delightedin her face – so unexpectedly _sweet – _that it triggered a rush of warmth in his chest, a surge of something dangerously akin to fondness.

And it felt _good_. Worse still…he rather _liked _it.

"Right," she said, her nose crinkling in an absurdly appealing way, "stupid question." She lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip – _slurped _a sip – and he watched the pleased lift of her brows with resigned satisfaction.

Because he did, in fact, pay attention. In this case, too well.

She lowered the cup, eyes meeting his once more and the grin on her face widened as she started toward him. "Stop fishing for compliments," she said primly. "You know it's perfect."

Yes, he did.

"Obviously. But I do so enjoy leaving you no choice but to admit it, Lieutenant."

She sauntered past him, the swing of her hips drawing his eye before he caught himself and forced his gaze back to his lap, annoyed afresh by this truly tiresome fascination with her. He heard her crawl into her customary chair across from him, followed immediately by the sound of her taking a sip from the cup in her hands.

"Here's a thought," she said after a moment of silence, pausing once the words were out to take another, longer gulp of her coffee. "As this is the one place on this heap that we can speak freely, how 'bout we leave the titles at the door from now on, huh?"

It was, yet again, not at all what he had expected her to say and he jerked his head up, the movement sending a lock of hair tumbling into his eyes. He watched her from beneath it for a moment, taking in the sight of her, so _small_ against the bulk of the chair. "I suppose," he said, flicking the curl away impatiently when it caught against one of his lashes, "that we are sufficiently acquainted to allow for such liberties," he paused, considered, "Miss Duval."

He frowned, not at all pleased with the sound of that particular address, no matter how correct. It somehow sounded even _more _formal than her rank – and he found that, despite his misgivings, he was growing less and less interested in maintaining the formalities where she was concerned. To his relief, she grimaced, clearly liking it no better than he had.

"Yeah…I had something a bit less formal in mind. Though I do suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to read a Jane Austen novel."

Surprised by her yet again, Khan lifted a brow, heartened to find ever greater depths beneath the Section 31 mantle that she cloaked herself in. "I have always preferred the Bronte's myself," he admitted, excited at the prospect of a conversation that had nothing at all to do with weapons. "Wuthering Heights in particular has always been a favorite of mine."

It had been, he realized at that moment, an extraordinarily long time since last he'd had the pleasure of good company and quiet conversation. That he should find both _here_ and with _her _of all people…

Dangerous, he recognized. It was dangerous how contented he felt.

Her entire face scrunched, her opinion of his preference clear. "I hate that book," she declared with that unapologetic bluntness that he found far more charming than he should. "It's a long, miserable read made even more long and miserable by the fact that there isn't a single likable character in the whole miserable bunch. Give me Jane Eyre any day."

He matched her distaste with his own, frowning at her pointedly. "While there is absolutely nothing at all long or miserable about _that _novel."

"Oh, please," she dismissed, her elbows propped on her knees as she leaned forward in her chair, all bounce and eagerness as she grinned down at him, "there's no comparison. If nothing else, Jane Eyre at least has a happy ending."

Khan leaned back, resting more fully against the edge of the sofa behind him. "And you require a happy ending in your literature?"

That earned him a look of amused incredulity, arched brows nearly meeting across the bridge of her nose. "Well…yeah. I'm already well aware of how awful and unfair life can be. Why the hell would I want to read a book that's sole purpose is to remind me of that?"

He nodded once, aiming a knowing smile her way. "An escapist reader, then. No doubt your bookshelves are teeming with dog-eared Tolkien's…" the words died on his tongue, remembrance– a vicious knife – stabbing at him cruelly. The differences between the world he had awoken to and the world that he still considered his own were vast…and it was often the simplest of those differences that he found the most difficult to reconcile.

"That is," he continued gruffly, "if anyone even keeps bookshelves any longer. Far more likely that your library is neatly contained on your personal PADD, I suppose."

"Most of it is," she said airily, "but not all. I actually have a decent collection of antique books that I've put together over the years. There's something, I don't know…_soothing_, I guess, about an actual, physical book in your hands. I know I'm solidly in the minority on that nowadays, but I'd give up the clothes on my back before I gave up my books," she paused, grin turning coy, "and that includes every single one of my _very _dog-eared Tolkein's."

And just that quickly, the raw ache in the center of his chest dulled, the keenness of his loss made somehow more bearable by the burgeoning amity in her eyes.

There was something horribly unsettling about Lieutenant Duval. Something that defied even his extraordinary powers of observation.

She was watching him now, green eyes meeting his without hesitation – an audacious refusal to retreat that she had exhibited from nearly the first moment of their acquaintance. As had been the case all along, he could read very little of her thoughts in the depths of that almost too direct gaze and it frustrated and intrigued him in equal measures.

She met him as if he were any other man, unimpressed entirely by the supremacy bred into his very bones. He was unaccustomed to such easy candor; to her casual assumption of – and demand for – parity. Watching her now, seeing her watch him right back, he felt his interest piqued in a way it had not been for far longer than he cared to admit.

In a way that should have been nearly unconscionable to him.

Once, so long ago now, when he had commanded the fealty of millions, there had been no one – man or woman; human or Augment alike – who would have dared presume to engage him as their equal. More than that, he would have suffered no fool stupid enough to attempt it. Yet now, here sat this utterly fallible creature, this mere _slip _of a thing who gave like for like and challenged him at every turn…

…and all he could think of was how very _green _her eyes looked as she stared down at him…

_Imperial jade_, his mind named the shade before he could stop himself and almost as if she had heard him, her eyes widened and her lips parted and the air around them _electrified._

Blood roaring in his ears, Khan felt the determination to keep his distance begin to wither and a new, far more precarious notion rise up to take its place.

"We have strayed rather far afield from the impetus of this conversation," he said, eyes locked on hers, heat singing through his veins as her pupils dilated, black nearly swallowing all of that glorious green. "As fascinating as an examination of your literary preferences and reading habits would undoubtedly prove, I must insist that it become a topic for another day. You have piqued my interest, you see, and I find myself…_curious. _What would you have me call you, Lieutenant Duval? Shall I follow the inestimable Commander Vazquez's lead? Shall I call you…_Becca_?"

He knew the answer even before she flinched away from the name; had known it from the moment it had first been spoken in his presence.

"But no," he continued, silencing her denial, "that would never do. I have seen your face when the good Commander wields that weapon of past camaraderie against you; seen you wince every time the diminutive trips off his blundering, oblivious tongue. You _despise _that name. Is that not so…_Rebecca_?"

It was not the first time that name had passed his lips, but it was the first time he had _meant _it when he said it. There was a lushness to it, the syllables a treat – a _delicacy _– as they rolled off of his tongue and over his lips.

And _her _reaction…

She was leaning forward in her chair now, fear battling hunger in her gaze; short, shaky breaths puffing unsteadily from between slightly parted lips. Her chest rose and fell in fits and starts and her fingers clenched convulsively against the cup that she was gripping tight between both hands.

He found himself tensing as he waited for her response, his own pulse rate increasing as he watched the jump and thrum of hers along the side of her neck. She sucked in a breath and his eyes shot up to her mouth, anticipation surging like lightning down every nerve and his own breath catching as she parted her lips to say…

The high, piercing warble of her communicator shattered the moment, the pieces of which had not even finished settling around them before she was throwing herself backward into her chair, a look of mortified horror on her face. As he watched, she clawed at her pocket with her free hand, coffee spilling everywhere as all of that lovely heat he had been enjoying froze over, leaving him cold once more.

"Duval," she shrieked into the device once it was in her hand, looking everywhere but at him now.

"Lieutenant, I need to see you. Immediately."

Khan's mood plummeted and his temper spiked – Rafael Vazquez. _Of course_.

The man's timing was truly _impeccable_.

"Aye, sir," she barked out, nodding, a faint frown hovering at the corners of her mouth. "I just woke up, so if you don't mind…"

"My office, Duval," the Commander cut her off, voice sharp, "five minutes. No excuses. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir," she said, her frown deepening. "Weird," she murmured, clicking the communicator shut.

He watched, fury simmering beneath his skin, as she practically threw herself out of her chair, gaze distant – every inch the Section 31 Agent. Everything from only moments before had been wiped clean from her face, her expression falling into the false mildness that set his teeth on edge. Without a word, she turned her back on him, dropping her cup absently and heading for the door, never even glancing his direction.

_Dismissed_.

The word echoed through his mind, infuriating him. Hands fisting, he stared straight ahead at the far wall of the room, refusing – _refusing _– to let his eyes trail after her. How dare she.

How _dare _she dismiss him. _Him_.

The nerve of the woman – the sheer _audacity _of her. Who was she to…

"I'd like that, by the way."

Her voice, soft and uncertain, broke through the haze of his anger and he snapped his eyes to the side, his turn to glare at _her _for once. "What?"

She turned then, glancing at him over her shoulder, lines of strain bracketing her mouth and shadows gathering in her eyes, dulling their sparkle.

"If you would call me Rebecca," she said quietly, the words heavy with tension that she was trying very hard not to show. "I'd like that."

And then she was gone, bolting from the room before he had even begun to form a reply. Staring at the door long after it had closed behind her, he sucked in a long, deep breath and then blew it out in a huff. He lifted his hand to his head and raked it through his hair, frustration quickly becoming an almost permanent barb beneath his skin.

Blowing out a furious breath, he dropped his head back onto the seat of the sofa behind him, neck stretching as he glared up at the ceiling above him. She was maddening. Enraging. Completely and utterly vexatious.

With a growl, he brought his hands up to scrub at his face, wishing it were so easy to blot out the image of her demurely lowered lashes, so dark against the paleness of her skin.

_I'd like that._

Another growl and he launched himself forward, hands seeking the comforting familiarity of the weapon he had abandoned in his rush to focus on _her_. Now, he caught it up to him gratefully, desperate for the distraction it offered. He wanted – _needed _– to focus on the immediate. On the tangible.

What he certainly did _not _need was to think about how _deliciously _her name had rolled of his tongue…

…_call me Rebecca_

…or about how he very much longed to taste its sweetness again…

_I'd like that_.

* * *

It was nearly an hour later that the outer door hissed open and her light, lithe tread thudded across the threshold. Khan did not look up from what he was doing – it had taken him far longer than it should have to regain his equanimity following her earlier departure; he was in no great rush to subject himself to the chaotic whirlwind of her presence yet again. Instead, he squared his shoulders and kept his eyes fixed determinedly upon where he was tightening the firing spring to adjust the trigger sensitivity.

He could feel her eyes on him – a quick shift of his own and he knew that she was standing just across the room from him, her black boots hovering just within his periphery. Her attention was an itch at the back of his neck, down his spine…but he was painfully well aware that no amount of scratching would offer relief.

_Though, I suppose that rather depends upon the sort of __**scratching**__ one is engaging in..._

Khan grimaced at that, hunching himself even further over the weapon in his lap and recalling with bitter longing a time when his mind had _not _been ravaged by such banal absurdity. When war, strategy and politics had been the driving force behind even his most idle thoughts, leaving little room for the sort of snickering, puerile lechery that had spawned such a thought.

His fingers twitched, pinching hard against the spring wedged between this thumb and forefinger and he could feel the small twist of metal flatten out between them. He grit his teeth, ire flaring hotly at the unintended destruction of the part. Apparently, his descent into mediocrity knew _no_ bounds.

After another moment of silence, he saw her take a single, decisive step forward but still kept his head stubbornly down. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, she would read his reluctance and simply go away. He was in no mood for conversation; had no desire to make nice. If she would not heed the warnings implicit in both his silence and his body language then more fool her.

"Does that thing work?"

The question, doubtful to the point of insult – particularly given his less than charitable state of mind – chafed his already inflamed temper. "Of course it does," he snapped, tipping his head up to lob a glare her way.

He looked back down quickly, irritated all over again at the sudden concern that flared up in his chest, just beneath his simmering ill-humor. She was troubled; he could see it in the tiny frown that sat just between her brows. Glaring now at the weapon in his lap, he willed the unease away, wanting precisely _none _of it.

"Right," she said softly, apologetically, "of course it does. Because you're utterly brilliant and I am, I promise you, well aware of that fact. But could you do me a favor? Could you just…humor me for a minute, please?"

She had moved toward him as she spoke and now those small, slim feet were just before him; he slid his eyes up the curve of her boot, lingering on the flare of her calf. Her words plucked at his grudging unease and the pleading with which they were spoken dispelled the worst of his ill-temper, despite his grasping attempts to hold onto it. Finally, he shifted his eyes up to her face, resigned. "Proceed."

Her eyes brightened, birthing an answering swell of warmth in his chest and he knew – without a shadow of a doubt – that he was in grave danger of committing a truly _stupid_ error.

"When you say 'of course it does'," she said, squatting down before him, frowning thoughtfully as she reached out to skate her fingers across the surface of the weapon lying across his thighs, "does that mean we could take it out and shoot it right now and it would work exactly the way your big, bad brain intends for it to work? Or 'of course it does' as in it _will _work eventually, once you've fiddled with it for another couple of days and worked out all the kinks?"

"Ah, I see." He was watching her fingers trail back and forth over the body of the weapon, captivated by the swirl of her finger as she drew a lazy figure eight against the barrel. "So Marcus has finally worked up the nerve to show his face. I had wondered how long it would take him to find his spine."

She had such _small _hands, he mused. Wide of palm and short of finger, they were not delicate hands; nor were they particularly elegant, with their closely trimmed nails and chapped knuckles. But they were strong hands _– capable _hands – lightly calloused and accustomed to use. Indeed, he could hear the faint rasp of those callouses now as her fingers skimmed across the surface of the weapon.

His mouth went dry. The itch beneath his skin ignited into a low, steady burn – flames fanning higher as his mind conjured an image of those skillful fingers dancing across _his _skin…

"He'll be here tomorrow morning," she said, the sound of her voice snapping him sharply – reluctantly – back to the here and now. "And as I promised him over a week ago that we would have a working prototype ready the next time I spoke to him, I'm kinda hoping this thing," and now she wrapped her fingers around the muzzle of the weapon, shaking it pointedly, "will fit the bill. I'd really rather not have to explain to the old son of a bitch that I can't deliver on that promise."

Furious at having allowed himself to lose focus yet _again_, Khan tore the weapon from her grasp, nearly pulling her off balance in his haste and striving not to care that he had. "As I am hardly responsible for your having made the promise in the first place, do please explain to me how your ability to keep it or not is _my _problem?"

Rather than firing back at him in her habitually robust manner, she confounded him yet again, folding in on herself, her shoulders rounding as she let out a miserable sigh. "So it's not ready then?"

Khan froze, caught and held by the sheer…_disappointment _in her voice.

His eyes locked on hers and his hands clenched hard on the weapon; disbelief warring with a roaring, desperate desire to _do something_. He did not like to see her like this – did not like to hear her sound so forlorn.

He blew out a breath, struggling against the weight of swiftly dawning understanding.

He wanted to _help_ her, he realized, stunned. Whatever was wrong…whatever had caused her to look, to sound, like she did…he wanted to _fix it_.

_Wanted _to.

He was an even bigger fool than he had believed possible…

"I can have it in more than sufficient working order by tomorrow morning. Marcus will be," he stopped there, sickened by the words that were spilling out of his mouth, "_well _pleased."

He looked away brusquely, having no desire to see the triumph in her eyes – no matter how brightly it might make them glow. Staring at the wall beyond her, he tried to center himself, to focus on the fact that bowing to her request was _not_ the indignity that it appeared on the surface.

Little as it pleased him to admit, satisfying Marcus was in _his _best interest as much as it was hers. If he were being honest, the promise she had made had been a sound tactic on her part. One that had the potential to prove highly successful. He might not _want_ Marcus' trust, but he was not too proud to admit that, for the sake of his people, he _needed _it. If there was one way that he could truly earn it, it was through the weapons he would build. She had seen that and had turned it to their mutual advantage.

It was both efficient and impressive – the mark of an able tactician – and he found himself admiring her in new and even more maddening ways.

She was sitting now, arms around her knees which were pulled tight to her chest…and she was watching him. Closely.

Her unabashed watchfulness rankled – the woman had absolutely no concept of subtlety or good manners. Had no one ever taught her that it was impolite to stare?

"I would hope that you already realize this," she said, quiet now, oblivious to his once more looming bad temper, "but I'd just like to point out – for the record – that I'm not any more thrilled about this than you are. I don't want Marcus here anymore than you do."

Khan hummed, patience wearing thin – he was so very _tired_ of being so very _nice_. "As you say. Though I doubt your admitted lack of enthusiasm will prevent you from prostrating yourself dutifully at his feet – ever the faithful, obedient lackey."

He could actually _feel _her bristling. "I am _not _Marcus' lackey."

Looking squarely back at her, he cocked his brow. "All evidence to the contrary."

And just that quickly, all of her sweetness and charm evaporated; burned completely away. In its absence, he found himself faced with the strong, calculating and utterly intriguing creature who had fascinated him against his will in the sterile silence of an interrogation room.

"Well forgive me for preferring alive and healthy over the alternative," she said, as coolly assured as he had ever seen her. "I know it must seem terribly boring to you, but some of us can't afford to be angry and defiant all the time. You can because you're irreplaceable – there's no one else quite like you, is there? But me?" She barked out a laugh that had not a shred of real humor in it. "I'm about as replaceable as it gets and quite frankly, I've already pushed what limits I have been allowed pretty much to the breaking point. If I push any harder, I'm just going to get myself into a whole new world of trouble. So no matter how much I don't want to do it – no matter how much I hate it – what I have to do right now is keep my head down, my mouth shut and kiss as much ass as I possibly can. Otherwise, I'm never going to gain back any of that ground that I've lost."

Her frankness, far from the irritant that it should have been, drew him in like a moth to a flame. He had lived in a world of political intrigue, of lies and liars; of those who dealt in betrayal the way others dealt in goods. He had known her kind before – the paid liar, quite often the most dishonorable of them all. And yet…

She was a liar-by-trade, her loyalty lying with the most unworthy man to ever draw breath…and yet she was somehow the most honest creature he had ever known.

He sometimes very much wished that he had never laid eyes on her.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose – frustrated. With him, no doubt.

"Look, I know that none of this is anything that you want to hear and I'm sorry, but if you want me to be able to stay…if you don't want Marcus to yank me off this project and shove some new idiot down your throat…then you are going to have to cut me just a little bit of slack, ok?" Oh yes…she was without question frustrated with _him_. "You've got to remember that one day, you'll be out of here. You'll have your crew back, you'll have your life back and you'll never have to think about any of this ever again. But me? I'll be right here," she slapped her hand against the floor and he was quietly horrified to see a faint sheen of tears in her eyes. "I'll be right here," she repeated, "always. Until the day I retire or until the day that someone finally gets the best of me, this is where I'll be. So do you understand why I can't keep setting fires just for the thrill of watching them burn?"

Oh, but how he wanted to snarl at her; to rage and hiss and pray to Gods that he had never believed in that he would finally, somehow, scare her off for good. _Damn _her. _Damn _her for being sensible – for being _reasonable _– when the foremost thought in _his _mind was how prettily she wore her stoicism.

Resignation stole over him yet again, a weight that sat heavily upon his shoulders, and he nodded; one single dip of his head to acknowledge that he understood her. And then, there was silence. A long, weighty silence that he knew that he would not be the one to break.

Seconds ticked past, then a full minute…and then…

"Too bad you didn't come with me to Vazquez's office this morning. You missed a hell of a time."

It was a desperate grab for levity – transparent and heavy-handed. But it was, at the very least, an effort. One that he knew he would answer with his own attempt, however meagre it would undoubtedly prove. He tried for a smile, though he rather doubted he succeeded. "I suppose then that Marcus' visit was the catalyst behind the good Commander's urgency this morning?"

There. He had done his part; contributed to the conversation. He was _trying_. For _her _sake.

"He really has been behind a desk too long," she mused, chin resting now atop her knees. "He put together the most ridiculously elaborate accidentally-on-purpose eavesdropping scheme I've ever seen in my entire life. I mean, seriously, he'd even scripted the damn thing. Worse, he scripted it really, _really _badly. It wound up working well enough in the end, but that's no thanks to him; he made it _so _much more complicated than it needed to be."

She did not show her emotions in the broad, obvious strokes that most did. Rather, she expressed herself far more delicately than that. The subtle shifts of her expression were entrancing to behold, a foreign language that he had yet to decipher but found himself eager to learn. A fact that had never been truer than it was at that very moment. She spoke with a lightness…a joviality that was contagious all on its own, but made even more so by the tiny half-grin that graced her lips.

She was irresistible. Magnetic. And so very…luminous. She was not sunshine – nothing as trite or mawkish as that. No, she was a low-banked fire, warm and inviting; useful and comforting in equal measure.

Unable to help himself, Khan felt his own lips twitch up into a faint grin. "Is that what took so long then?"

A roll of her eyes. "Oh God, you have no idea. I spent most of the time I was gone just standing in front of his assistant's desk, waiting for him to finish, as was repeatedly pointed out to me in as dramatic a fashion as possible, his _secured, highly-classified call_."

"As clumsy as all that?"

"Oh, worse," she sighed, fingers plucking at her fabric covered thighs. "The only saving grace of the entire thing was his assistant. The little shit actually managed to impress me – she took the steaming pile of crap that Vazquez had planned for her and played it so well that I actually believed she was grossly incompetent when, in fact, she's pretty damn good at her job."

He found himself warming to the topic, asking questions for no other reason than to hear her speak; enjoying the rise and fall of her voice, her accent calling to mind the gentle sway of tree limbs tossed on a warm, summer breeze. "Indeed?"

"Oh yeah. I think she might actually have the makings of a damn good field operative. I'll have a better idea of just how good once she makes her play. You learn a lot about a person based on their ability to plan a good execution – I have high hopes that she'll at least give me a little bit of a run for my money."

"What?"

Had he heard her wrong? He _must _have heard her wrong.

Unperturbed, she simply shrugged her shoulders at him. "Well, she's clearly got her eye on my reputation – she made that clear. It's only a matter of time before she tries to retire me, so to speak. If she's as good as I'm currently giving her credit for, it should be a downright honor to completely fuck up all her well laid plans."

She was smiling – _smiling _– while he, for one, failed to see any humor in the situation whatsoever.

"Forgive me, but have you lost what little sense that I credited you with?" His voice was low, harsh and he could see her eyes go cold at the first hint of challenge – not that he cared in the slightest; not after her flippancy. "This girl is plotting your demise and your only concern is that she plans it _well_?"

She sighed. "You don't understand. This is…it's a thing. I've built myself a fairly sizable reputation over the years – people _know _me. They know who I am, they know what I've done. Hell, new recruits are trained on my success stories! It's only natural that some of them are going to get it into their heads to try and bump me off. It's a status thing."

It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "So you would name this barbaric practice – and do, please, take a moment to consider the source of _that _observation – a tradition?"

"Exactly," she said with a nod, dark brown tresses dancing against her neck with the movement. "I'm perfectly aware that it's twisted and strange – though you're right, hearing you call it barbaric really does put things into perspective – but it is what it is. It's the nature of the life I lead; the life I _chose_, I might add. If it was simple and easy, everyone would do it."

The life she led…the dangers she not only willingly faced but actually _sought out_…

He did not like to think of it. Did not like to think of it _at all_.

He glanced over at her, surprised to find her head cocked pensively to the side and her eyes studying him closely. "There's not actually anything to worry about though. She may be good, but I'm still better. I'll have her face down on the floor with a knife at her throat the first time she even so much as breathes wrong in my direction."

He drew back instantly, shutters slamming closed all through his mind. _Obvious_. He had been obvious – _too _obvious.

And at present, he simply could not afford _obvious_. He could not afford those things which _obvious _revealed.

What he _could _afford was disdain. Haughty…arrogant…disdain…

"I do hope you are correct, Rebecca. I should hate to have to start over anew with a replacement; not when I've only just gotten you trained to my satisfaction."

She smiled at that. She was not meant to _smile_.

"Oh, so it _is _going to be Rebecca, then? I'd started to think that we were just going to pretend that conversation this morning never happened."

Yet again, she refused to stay on script, veering off in her own direction and leaving him feeling decidedly wrong-footed. He could admit, if only to himself, that he quite enjoyed the…_novelty _of the sensation.

"No indeed," he said, leaning forward, propping himself up on his weapon, a thrill of excitement going up his spine. "You have stated your preference and I shall be only too happy to abide by it…_Rebecca_."

For a moment – a split _second _– he saw it in her eyes. Fear. Deep, abiding _fear_ and it was strangely…heartening. It was a comfort to know that he was not the only one who looked at this situation they had entangled themselves in and felt _fear_. But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone and her face was once more the very picture of cheerful simplicity, a too-wide smile gracing her lips.

"Fantastic!" She belted the word out lustily, a too-wide smile on her lips. "So glad we cleared that up. So anyway, we're going to need to test that," she reached out, poking at the weapon with her finger, words coming out in a rush.

She was, to his great relief, as ready for this conversation to end as he was.

"Unnecessary," he said simply, eager to oblige her clear desire for escape – the sooner they settled this, the sooner they could make mutually strategic retreats.

"Essential," she snapped back, extending her hands out in front of her. "May I?"

He found his grip on the weapon tightening, his eyes on her outstretched hands narrowing.

"Please?"

_Please_. A simple word; one that had never before held any sort of power over him. But now…spoken in _her _voice…

He lifted the weapon from his lap, handing it to her stock first. "Do be careful, Rebecca," he chided, not even bothering to feign disgust at this latest capitulation.

"Of course," she said, accepting the weapon from him and turning slightly away before shouldering it expertly. "This is a hell of a lot lighter than it used to be."

He ignored a new flare of heat at the picture she made – a tiny woman wielding a very big weapon – and nodded, though he knew she could not see him. "As it must be, in order to allow for the intended portability."

She dropped the weapon to her lap, her head tilting slightly as she ran her hands over the weapon, exploring it with clever fingers and even more clever eyes. She was caressing the weapon as any other woman might a lover and the flame in his middle began to burn hotter. "I have to admit, I'm curious about the capabilities you've built into it. And it is," she paused, a beguiling half-smile gracing her mouth, her voice dipping low…almost _seductive_, "a very pretty gun. If you don't mind, I would love to give it a go."

His breath caught at the unintentional innuendo– and he knew that it was unintentional, she was not, despite some half-hearted attempts, a deliberately coy creature. He sat utterly still for a very long moment, heat curling through his blood as he struggled to cage the long dormant beast that had stirred at her artless insinuation. But then she bit at her lower lip, white teeth sinking into plump, pink flesh and that heat erupted into a searing, visceral hunger as the beast – _lust _– lifted its head and _howled_.

It was, of course, that moment precisely when she chose to lift her head, seeking and finding his eyes.

In a move that he refused – _categorically _refused – to call panic, he lowered his head and reached for a tool, desperately grabbing fast to anything he could find to occupy hands that only wanted to reach for _her_…

"Khan?"

"Yes," he snarled – the beast, denied its prey, snapping its teeth in frustration, "of course you may test the weapon. However, if you wish for it to be complete upon the Admiral's arrival," his hand shot out then, snatching the weapon from her hands, "I really must ask that you allow me the rest of the day to work in peace. You have distracted me from my task for far too long already. I have remained on my best behavior, but my admittedly limited store of patience has worn quite thin. Perhaps, as you are so…_eager _to please, you might see to securing a test range for the morrow."

She flinched then, a look faintly like betrayal stealing over her face. "Right," she snipped and he could hear the thin thread of hurt in her voice as well, "so sorry to have bothered you." She stood up, brushed her hands down the front of her pants. "I'll just go…do as I'm told. You know, like the good little lackey that I am, right?"

He said nothing. Just continued to look anywhere but at her.

"Right," she said again, disappointment clear in the word. And then she was gone, stalking out the door and leaving him sitting on the floor, telling himself firmly to let her go.

That he did not care.

Reminding himself that he _could not care_…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Ok, so…it's been a very, very long time since I last updated this 'verse. I know this isn't chapter two of Where Dreams &amp; Darkness Collide, but I promise that's coming soon. This chapter came about as a desperate attempt to break through the absolutely atrocious writer's block that I've been struggling with. I think – I _hope_ – that I finally managed to do it! So as penance for my absence, I offer this very long chapter - Khan's side of SIHNT Chapter 11 - and beg you all to bear with me just a little while longer!

And a big thank you to yifrodit for the gorgeous cover art! Thank you SO much!

* * *

One very long night later, Khan found himself stalking through the corridors with an extraordinarily large weapon slung across his back…and an extraordinarily self-satisfied smirk lurking just beneath his stoic façade. A self-satisfied smirk that only grew as the swelling sea of Io's residents cut a wide swath around him, the weight of countless eyes following him with widened wonder as he passed.

For a man accustomed to such behavior, it was gratifying to know that he could still inspire such a response from the lessers amongst whom he walked.

That it was, in all likelihood, the weapon, more than the man, who elicited such a reaction…well…that was as may be. The witless fools might not grasp the full measure of the man wielding the weapon, but it was still his genius that they cowered before. There was gratification enough in that to sustain him.

For now.

The time would come though, he promised himself, when they would _know_. When he was finished with Section 31, they would each of them understand precisely whose shadow they had passed through. Until then, he would take his victories where he could find them, no matter how trivial – and this, his first truly successful manipulation of 23rd century technology, was far from trivial.

_I dare even Rebecca Duval to find fault with this weapon, _he preened as he rounded the final corner before reaching his final destination. _I shall enjoy watching her eat every, single one of her earlier misgivings._

She was standing with her back to him, facing the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the enormous expanse of the construction hanger below. Khan could not see her face as he approached, but from the sharp tilt of her head and the painfully precise square of her shoulders, he rather suspected that she was still nursing her ill humor from the night before. A frustration, if true – she tended to be extraordinarily determined in her anger and he had no doubt that, if provoked, she would refuse to admit to even the most grudging approval.

Galling as it was to admit, he needed her approval. That he _wanted _it as well…

Khan pressed his lips together tightly, smugness vanishing behind an expression of wary reticence. He would not antagonize her further than he already had. He would approach her with dignified stoicism; give her no excuses to hide behind…no perceived sin to seize upon. She would never again question his brilliance – or his ability to see that brilliance realized.

No, after this day…

"Son of a bitch. Arrogant, fucking _toddler_ of a man; can't even be bothered to look at a damn _clock."_

Khan stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing at the sheer disgust woven through all of her plebeian crudity. She really was, he snarled to himself, the most distastefully _vulgar_ creature; so disappointingly _simple, _in both word and deed. That he had even begun to imagine any different was testament only to his own sadly cloistered state, surely.

Ruthlessly knocking aside all his more lofty ambitions for their forthcoming interaction, he let his expression go cold, chin coming up proudly.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant," he snapped to her back, his words cordial even as his tone dripped acid, "I can and _did _keep my eye most firmly on the clock. I simply assumed that a fully functional weapon would be more welcome to you than punctuality, given the circumstances, though apparently I was mistaken."

Her reaction, so different from the openness of the day before, was infuriatingly non-existent. She simply turned around, expression as placid and unmoved as if he'd simply commented on the weather, though he was at least encouraged to see the tiniest flicker of _something _behind that deceptively limpid gaze. As it always did, that faint trace of reaction – that tantalizing tease, hinting at what lay beneath all of that carefully cultivated tranquility – needled him. Goaded him, like the proverbial red cape before a seething, stamping bull.

He wanted to provoke _her _the way that she so easily provoked _him_; wanted to see those eyes ignite with the passionate intensity that he _knew _she possessed. He had seen it…felt the lick of its flame…and he wanted _more_…

"You're absolutely sure it's ready?"

...a desire which the irksome creature apparently had absolutely no intention of realizing.

Disappointed at both her continued composure as well as her persistently pessimistic attitude toward his abilities, Khan arched a brow at her, determined to match her unaffected air with his own decided disinterest. "I had just begun to believe you passably clever, Lieutenant," he drawled, "you might save me the trouble of having to reclassify you by _not _asking such patently stupid questions."

_That_ certainly garnered him a reaction – the glare that was leveled on him at that was as skewering as any he had earned from her before. "I'm sorry," she bit out, the easy lilt of her words gone short and sharp, "I must have mixed this weapon up with the _other _absolutely enormous gun you were working on. You know, the one that wasn't even close to being ready just yesterday?"

Lips twisting with displeasure – at _her_, for being so maddeningly frustrating; at _himself_, for resorting to the pettiest of insults – Khan shifted the weapon in his grasp, propping the barrel against his shoulder. "How very tedious," he huffed, finding refuge in the familiar mantle of well-worn arrogance. "Sarcasm does not become you, Lieutenant. I would advise you to give up the habit immediately – it is both ineffective and pedestrian."

Her glare shifted then; molten eyes freezing over and going positively glacial. She was, in that moment, as truly furious as he had ever yet seen her…

"Thank you so much for the insight, Commander." She spat the words like so much filth, her entire demeanor suddenly screaming a loathing that took him aback with its vehemence. "I'll surely take it to heart – no more sarcasm. Next time, I'll just tell you to go hell straight away and save myself the effort."

With that, she whipped around and stalked away from him, disappearing into the nearest test range after mashing the access code in so forcefully that it was a wonder she did not break the keypad. Watching her go, Khan's jaw clenched and he fought down yet another entirely unwelcome surge of guilt.

Upsetting Rebecca Duval had somehow, simultaneously become both the very _first_ and the very _last_ thing that he wished to do…and the conflicting pull of two such diametrically opposed instincts was beginning to grate on what little patience he possessed. It was maddening, this continued and evidently increasingeffect she had on him.

_Why _did he care that he appeared to have genuinely wounded her? Why did it concern him in the slightest, when he had been so actively attempting to accomplish that very thing?

How did this woman, who should have been an open book to him, manage to both confuse and discompose him with barely more than a single, scathing look?

Quite frankly, they were none of them questions that he could even begin to answer. More than that, he had no real desire to even try.

At that moment, the only thing that Khan wanted to do was to simply turn around and walk away; to take himself and the fruits of his genius straight back to their quarters and leave Rebecca Duval behind him with nothing but an empty test range to show for herself. No doubt she would accord him the consideration he deserved once she'd been forced to explain to Marcus why she could not deliver to him the weapon that she had promised.

He spun around, slinging the weapon up behind him and putting the open door at his back…

_Of course_, a voice – light and lilting and somehow, inexplicably _her – _said inside his head, _I might also just talk my way around the problem until I manage to convince Marcus that it's all your fault. I mean, what can I__do when you deliberately go and sabotage all my good faith efforts to give him what he wants?_

Jaw clenching, Khan tightened his grip on the strap of the weapon. She was, as he had seen early and often, a particularly gifted manipulator, especially where her own neck was concerned. He had little doubt that she would find a way to shift Marcus' ire onto him rather than shoulder it herself. While he doubted a disappointment of this meagre magnitude would truly do any real harm to his interests, he was not willing to tempt fate.

So, with a growl, he whipped back around – knuckles gone white around the weapon strap and expression hard as steel and twice as cold. Prowling forward, he swept into the comparatively tight confines of the test range, his narrowed gaze drawn inexorably toward the small woman standing stiffly behind the control console at the back of the room.

Her head was down and she was in profile, but he could see that the clench in her jaw more than matched his own. Finding no small amount of satisfaction in the fact that she was just as annoyed with him as he was with her, Khan felt the hardest edge of his anger begin to blunt. They had neither of them, he reminded himself, asked to be placed in this untenable situation and likewise, they were each seeking to survive it as efficiently and effectively as they could.

It did them no favors to work against one another…

Feeling mildly chastened – though not nearly enough to apologize – he cast her a surreptitious look over his shoulder to find that she was still very pointedly ignoring him. When she flipped a switch so hard that it very nearly snapped off in her hand, he had to turn away again, lest she see the shadow of a grin that pulled at the corner his mouth.

Oh, yes…she was still quite thoroughly furious with him.

_Well_, he thought as he shifted the weapon against his shoulder, _you had hoped to provoke a reaction. Blind fury is most assuredly a reaction._

Just then, a low, rumbling hum of energy surged through the room and he stopped, arrested by the green glow that began in the center of the ceiling before arcing down to cover the walls and the floor as well. He took a step forward, any lingering anger evaporating in the face of a technology that he had only recently read about and had found both complex and interesting. "I have become conversant," he said after a moment spent studying the shielding, "in all currently utilized facets of shield technology through my work on the Vengeance."

He took another step forward, reaching out a hand to feel the pulse of the energy flow against his fingers and palm where it hovered just shy of the actual force field. His mind, as it was wont to do when faced with the new and fascinating, spun away from him, making him forget everything in his thirst for knowledge. "I attempted to research its experimental applications upon first learning of these ranges, but I very quickly discovered that the available literature is appallingly limited and tends almost exclusively towards the theoretical." He stopped, brow arching as he pulled a distasteful face. "Unsurprising, as I suspect that any scientists under Marcus' thumb would operate under a strict, pain-of-death non-disclosure policy, but irritating all the same. I find this particular utilization intriguing…"

Khan turned to look at her over his shoulder to find that she was already looking at him. "I assume," he continued, only vaguely noting the frown she wore, "based on its requisite situational purposes, that this is an amalgam of deflector and structural integrity shielding?"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence while he stared at her expectantly, his mind so consumed by the science of it all that he barely even noticed her frown turn down into a vicious glare.

"How the hell should I know?"

Khan shook his head, undeterred. "You have used these ranges many times in the past. You were, by your own admission, one of the first Agents to do so and I…"

"Exactly," she spat, cutting him off and _finally _drawing his full attention away from the thirst for information. "I use the range. I come in here, shoot whatever weapons they need me to shoot, offer my opinions and suggestions and then walk right back out again. I've never given a damn about the shields beyond the fact that they're on and working. I'm a spy, not an engineer."

Drawing back – both figuratively and literally – Khan fought to curb his disappointment. Yes, she was clearly clinging to her anger…but he could also recognize truth when he heard it.

"Ah. Yes. Of course, Lieutenant," he allowed, turning back to examine the shielding itself.

Of course she did not know the intricacies of the technology. As she had said, she was hardly an engineer; and while she regularly surprised him with the quality of her brain, she lacked the methodological expertise to…

"I could ask…if you want. I mean, I know people who…y'know…know about this stuff."

Caught entirely off-guard by those oddly tentative words – and even more so by the uncharacteristic stutter in her voice – Khan went very still. Unless he was very much mistaken, the ever-imperturbable Lieutenant Rebecca Duval sounded quite distinctly _perturbed_.

It should have been glorious – wringing a reaction out of her where she clearly wanted none to show. Instead, he found himself frowning.

"What I mean is," she continued after a moment. While she had mastered herself admirably, he could still hear the unwelcome bite of embarrassment in her voice, "if you're really interested, I can ask around. I'll find someone for you to discuss it with. Someone who can tell you what you want to know – give you a thorough rundown of the whole systems. Again though, only if you want. It's up to you entirely."

It had all come out in a rush, but something about her sudden, strange awkwardness spoke to him. He turned around to face her, not quite believing that such timidity of either thought or word could possibly have come from the bold, brash woman before him. But it was there, written all over her, from the top of her lowered head to the tips of her gracelessly shifting boots – somehow, he had managed to discompose her in exactly the way he had always wished to, even if he had no idea how he had done it.

Yes, her unshakeable composure was often irritating – maintained, as it so often was, in the face of his very decided upset. It was all too often _her_ cool head that managed to calm his own, particularly in situations where he had no desire for either rationality or sense. But now, to see her trip over herself…he could not help but wonder…why had he ever wanted to be the catalyst for _this_?

And how was he even to begin to go about fixing it, now that he had?

Rebecca Duval was not meant to stutter and shy away. Rebecca Duval was meant to meet him head on without so much as a by-your-leave.

He liked her that way, he admitted to himself – far more than he reasonably should.

She was glancing up at him from beneath her lashes now and he locked his gaze onto hers; any enjoyment he had imagined he might feel in this situation entirely absent. "That would be acceptable," he said, perhaps more forcefully than necessary; guilt over causing this agitation – and annoyance with himself for caring – nipping at his heels with its needle-like teeth. "Though you needn't…"

"It's no problem," she interrupted with a wave and a shrug, sounding far more like herself than she had only moments before. "Really. Don't worry about it."

Gratified to see that at least some of her diffidence had abated, Khan watched in silence as she shifted her attention back to the control console. In the silence that fell between them then, his mind strayed into dangerous territory; the admiration that he tried so very hard to ignore soaring to greater heights than ever before.

He should have been put off by her stumbling; should have pinpointed it as evidence of just how very ordinary she truly was and felt his tiresome attraction to her wane in return. In reality, it only grew stronger; swelling exponentially in the face of the single most tantalizing glimpse he had yet received of the _real _woman who lived beneath the perfectly, polished façade.

Almost without realizing it, he began to move toward her – drawn to her though he knew he should not be. He stopped beside her, an increasingly familiar knot of tension sitting high in his chest. He watched her work, trying not to feel frustrated when there was not even a twitch of her fingers to show that she was affected by his proximity in the slightest…

"Thank you."

The words came out before he had even thought to form them – surprising even himself with just how much he _meant _them.

She did not even flinch, just carried on as she had been without so much as a flicker of her earlier openness anywhere to be found. "For what?"

_For what?_

For what, indeed…

"I was…" he stopped, casting about for an answer and shocked when one presented itself almost immediately, "…abrupt yesterday and again just now. And still you offer me your unwavering assistance."

It was an acknowledgement of an appreciation that he had never even admitted to himself…but he could feel the truth of it even as the words rolled off his tongue.

A truth that – like everything else – she apparently neither felt nor cared about. Without even glancing at him, she gave a negligent shrug, the half of her face that he could see as placid and unmoved as ever. "I'm following orders," she dismissed, "there's nothing special about that. I'm just doing my job."

Khan swallowed hard against the urge to snap at her; the desire to shock her out of her even-tempered mildness, even more staggering in the face of her earlier honesty. "You are," he agreed quietly, trying desperately to maintain at least a little of his own calm. "But it does not follow that it must be a thankless one. So I say again…thank you, Rebecca."

Her head swung up, brilliant green eyes going straight to his, searing him with the heat of her full and undivided attention. It was so much like the day before, that astounding feeling of _connection_, and yet…it was more than that as well. There was something to this look – an openness, a vulnerability that sent him reeling even as it drew him in. It was a heady thing and he could feel the desire to move in closer, to lean into her, like a particularly stubborn itch beneath his skin. When she bit her lip, his eyes followed, tracing the edge of each small, white tooth where it cut into the lush curve of her mouth…

In his mind, he could see it happen – could see himself sweep in toward her. Could feel his hands wrapping tight around the jut of her hips as he pulled her to him – pressing every lush inch of the delectable body that lived beneath too-much black fabric against his own. Their eyes would meet, and it would be there in her eyes as she looked up at him – that same openness, that staggering vulnerability. He would _feel_ that look like a touch, shivering with it and offering her a glimpse behind his own defenses. Then, thus connected, he would dip his head to hers, pressing his lips first to the skin just beneath her ear before dragging his mouth across the satin-soft skin of her cheek. He would slide one of his hands up her back to clasp her neck, holding her to him, his fingers teasing the always-errant curls that hung at her nape. He would swallow her gasp of surprise at that tantalizing touch, sweeping his tongue across the bitten swell of her lower lip. She would whimper then; her own small, deft hands sliding up his chest as he growled her name against her lips…

_Rebecca…_

A sharp, stringent shriek from the console beside them shattered the silence and the Lieutenant – _Rebecca_ – tore her eyes from his, spinning back to the controls as relief poured from her in tangible waves. Khan, his mind reeling from the shock of his own fevered daydreams, retreated as well – his relief at the interruption every bit the equal of hers.

Wanting her was one thing. He was alone and he was lonely; to want her was merely the logical outcome of proximity combined with his own extraordinary circumstances.

Wanting her to want him in return…even _that_ he could forgive. He had never been the sort to want where he was not wanted.

Wanting _more…_wanting a connection beyond the physical…now _that_ was where the true difficulty lay…

Khan closed his eyes, breathing deep as he fought to master himself. He could still feel the imagined creep of her fingers up his chest; the ghost of her touch lingering at the back of his neck and sending a shiver down his spine.

"All systems ready!"

The words were bright but unaffected and in that tranquil tone, he found the answer that he needed.

It was a foolish whim, he decided firmly. A foolish and utterly one-sidedwhim that had nothing but utter disaster written all over it. Far better – far _wiser_ – to simply follow her lead and pretend that there had been nothing at all in that look save honest appreciation.

Down range from where he stood, a target dummy shot up from beneath the floor.

"Time to see if you're as good as you think you are."

Khan straightened at that, eyes narrowing at the teasing lilt of the words – so very different from anything else that had been said between them so far that day. It harkened to the easy camaraderie of the day before – before he had allowed his confusion and misgivings to sour their interactions – and he reached out and grabbed hold of the opportunity she had so graciously presented with both hands.

Because camaraderie was, by far, the wisest choice.

He glanced behind him just in time to see her slip on a pair of protective goggles, lips pursed and pert nose twitching. Looking away again, lips pressed together in a grim line, Khan tried very hard to pretend that he hadn't found the image oddly endearing.

"You're confidence in my abilities is truly staggering, Lieutenant," he offered, aiming for the same air of casual disinterest that she managed so very well.

"You know me," she said airily from behind him, "always good for a kind word or a shot of confidence. Now…ready when you are."

Khan had moved as she spoke, happily taking up position in the firing area with the weapon held lightly in his right hand, its weight virtually non-existent to him. At her declaration, he reached up with his left hand to adjust the power level. "I think half-power should be sufficient for the first go, don't you?"

"Your design, your call."

"Right then." He lifted the weapon, taking aim down range – relieved at the ease with which they had slid into this far simpler dynamic. The key now, he thought as he squeezed the trigger, was to figure out a way to stay that way.

With barely a hint of kick, the weapon fired as intended, emitting a pulse of energy so powerful that the dummy at the end of the range simply…disintegrated, sending a shower of debris raining down and leaving far more to float gracefully through the air above.

From behind him, he heard a small, shocked gasp followed almost immediately by a stunned cry of "Holy shit!"

He turned to find Rebecca Duval staring at the carnage down range with a look of utter _delight_ on her face. A moment later, she giggled – _giggled_ – before nearly skipping over to stand beside him, her eyes entirely for the weapon in his hands. It was captivating, this almost childlike glee; he particularly liked the way it made those lustrous green eyes dance.

"Holy _shit_," she said again. "That was amazing!"

_Camaraderie_, he reminded himself as he tried very hard not to preen under her hard won – and utterly inimitable – praise. _I must want nothing more than that from her._

"Yes, it rather was, wasn't it?"

He did not even attempt to hold back his smug grin now – he had earned that right, he rather thought. That she might agree…

Well…

_Camaraderie_.

The little Lieutenant, her eyes still on the weapon, took a step toward him, grinning from ear to ear. "I admit it, I'm impressed. Seriously. I mean…after seeing _that_…there's just no way that Marcus could possibly spin this against us – you've given him so far above and beyond what he was asking for that even he won't be able to help being impressed."

Little as he liked even the sound of Marcus' name, the praise that came along with it was welcome. "As you know the Admiral so much better than I," he said, refusing to allow even Marcus to ruin his current good mood, "I shall bow to your superior judgment in this matter. However, I must confess to feeling quite cautiously optimistic myself."

"As well you should," she affirmed, moving even closer and now nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet in pure anticipation. "Ok, my turn to shoot it," she said, hands outstretched greedily. "Give it."

Smiling and keeping a firm grasp on the weapon, Khan regarded her down the length of his nose, enjoying her eagerness even as he decided it only fitting that he make her _earn _the privilege of firing his masterpiece. "_Give it_?" He tsked, holding the weapon away from her. "Really, Lieutenant Duval, where have your manners – and your grasp of proper language, gone?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, though the playfulness behind the look was particularly infectious.

"I gave them to the dummy to hold," she quipped, "and look where they got _him_. Now come on…give it to me!"

Khan narrowed his eyes right back at her, enjoying himself immensely. "A please would not go amiss."

"Since when have we ever done that?"

He shook his head, chin coming up haughtily. "Past behavior is no excuse for present incivility. Did I not offer you my heartfelt thanks not ten minutes past?"

She rolled her eyes now, huffing lightly. "All right _fine_. Give me the damn gun…_please_."

He was smiling now, wide and easy – he could no longer resist the urge. Offering her the weapon, he gave a little bow, chin dipping deferentially. "As the lady wishes."

Rebecca snorted at that, and it was as inelegant a sound as he could possibly imagine. "Never was much of a lady," she declared as she lifted the weapon to her shoulder with expert ease, "never really wanted to be either – mind setting me up with a fresh dummy? Blue button, top right, thanks."

He categorically did _not _jump to accommodate her request. He simply…moved with all possible haste…to do precisely as she had bade. Khan sighed, unable even to find the will to be annoyed with himself as he pressed the indicated button and watched a fresh dummy spring up from beneath the floor down range. He looked back to Rebecca, eyes drinking in the lean line of her as she aimed the weapon that was nearly as large as she was…

"After all," she said once she had aimed to her satisfaction, "it's the bad girls who have all the fun."

She pulled the trigger.

The weapon discharged, sending a pulse of energy down range…and sending Rebecca flying backwards, her body slamming hard into the control console before falling into a crumpled heap at its base. She was gasping; her entire body heaving as she struggled for air – fingers scrabbling ineffectually against the weapon that had fallen across her lap.

Khan, his own chest gone uncomfortably tight, lurched toward her; the unfamiliar buzz of panic singing through his veins and making him clumsy in his haste. He dropped down in front of her, frowning at the almost vacant look on her face as she continued to fight for the air that had been knocked from her lungs. Guilt, thick and choking, began to work its way past the panic before mingling with it to leave his insides twisting into ever tightening knots. How had he not foreseen such an _obvious_ eventuality? He had built the weapon as if for himself, without ever once considering how it might function in the hands of a non-Augment.

It had been a simplistic and almost abominably narrow-minded approach.

An _unforgivably _narrow-minded approach, he corrected himself harshly, as he watched her struggle.

"Rebecca," he called, leaning in closer to her, wanting to help but feeling utterly unequal to the task. His hands itched to reach for her, to brush back the hair that had fallen into her face...but he simply could not bring himself to touch her. Not when it was his negligence which had put her on the floor to begin with. "Rebecca…can you hear me? Are you injured?"

Blinking hard, she gave a small shake of her head, sending several strands of hair dancing across her cheek. Then her eyes slid shut, her brow furrowing with concentration and slowly, inch by painstaking inch, her tortured breathing began to ease. Short, sharp breaths stretched into long, slow ones and after a few long moments, he could feel some of the tension ease out of her.

"Fine," she said softly, almost choking on the word. "I'm fine. Ok…'s ok. I'm ok."

The sound of her voice, even labored as it was, had never been more welcome to him. Relief, hot and heady, tore through him and he released the breath that he had not even realized that he was holding in a gusting sigh. Along with the relief though, there was also a stab of wary unease; there were extraordinarily few people that he had ever cared enough about to feel real concern for – and all of them were still asleep inside their cryo-tubes. That he was feeling it now…and for _her_…

There was only one logical conclusion to draw from that rather astonishing correlation…and it simply did not bear consideration. Rather than even attempting it, Khan simply shoved the unfinished thought deep into the recesses of his mind.

"Are you injured?"

The question came out sharper than he'd meant it to and he winced slightly. Not that such things gave him any particular pause, but…she really had been through enough for the moment. She hardly needed him barking at her into the bargain…

She opened her eyes, _really _focusing them on him for the first time since she had fallen. "Yes," she admitted, her voice strained but strong. "Shoulder."

Glad for the distraction, Khan leaned back on his heels, eyes jumping between one shoulder and the other before settling squarely on the right. He narrowed his eyes, noting the unnaturally flattened shoulder and the faint anterior bulge. "Dislocated?"

He watched her shift, jaw clenching as she tested the shoulder and then almost immediately froze with a hiss, pain turning her expression pinched. "Oh, yeah. Very, very dislocated."

Having already arrived at that same conclusion for himself, Khan wasted no further time, lowering himself to his knees beside her even as he scooped the weapon from her lap. He tossed it behind him, not caring in the slightest if it was damaged in the process, and then shifted himself even closer to her, his hand slipping around to palm her lower back.

He knew what to do, his own shoulder having required re-setting on several occasions over the course of his life. He also knew what correcting the issue would entail...and he did not relish the thought. "I can fix this," he said roughly, his eyes jumping from her shoulder to her face and then back again. "If you will permit me, I can fix this."

"Yes." That there was absolutely no hesitation in that response was, he knew, testament to just how much pain she was actually in. "Please…yes…fix it."

Matching her swift word with his own deed, Khan moved forward until he was pressed up against her side, the hand at her back slipping around to grasp the curve of her opposite hip. "Sit up," he urged, lending his strength to aid her. "Slowly."

Following his instructions without question, she eased herself up and forward, leaning on his supporting arm far less than he knew that she should have. "Enough," he cautioned, pressing in even closer until she had no choice but to lean back against his arm, hopefully easing at least some of the pressure on her shoulder. "Have you ever suffered a dislocation and subsequent relocation before?"

Rebecca laughed at that; a thin, self-deprecating sound that spoke volumes. "On occasion."

He nodded, swamped now by an entirely different sort of relief. "Good," he said, ecstatic not to have to try and explain the realities of what she was about to face. "Then you are aware that this is going to _hurt_."

Still…it was, perhaps, better to be absolutely certain…

"Oh, yes. _Well _aware."

She sounded so matter-of-fact – so _utterly _unperturbed. There was no doubt that she was in pain…she simply seemed not to care that she was. Her self-control was, quite frankly, astounding to him.

Khan pulled his arm away from her back, palm landing lightly on her right scapula. He could feel the tension humming just beneath her skin; could feel her tense, the pain no doubt surging uncomfortably beneath his touch. Ignoring all of it – as he had to, if he truly wanted to help her – he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, feeling the thump of her pulse beneath the soft skin he found there. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Taking a deep breath and feeling his stomach clench with nerves – _gently_, he chided himself; _gently_ – he very slowly began to lift her arm from the wrist, holding just tight enough to keep the injured limb straight. "This appears to be a subcoracoid, anterior dislocation," he said absently, talking himself through the procedure as it ran through his head. "Fairly standard, as dislocations go and as such, a standard reduction procedure should prove sufficient."

Already she was breathing harder, her breath hissing between her teeth. Swallowing down his unease – medicine had never been one of his interests – he just kept lifting her arm. "The key to proper relocation is that it must not be rushed. It must be a slow, deliberate process, utilizing abduction and external rotation to find the angle at which the humeral head will slide back into the glenoid fossa." He shifted the hand that was pressed to her back then, palming her shoulder blade as he began to very tenderly manipulate the shifting ridge of her scapula. "Concurrently, the position of the scapula must be fixed in order to prevent rotation or anteversion, the natural scapular reaction to any marked glenohumeral movement due to abduction."

They were deep into the worst of it now, her teeth grinding so hard that he could hear the creak of her teeth between her short, panting breaths. Frowning in sympathetic discomfort, Khan leaned in closer to her, his lips hovering at her ear. "Nearly there," he breathed, nearly as eager for this to be finished as she was. "Nearly there…" the resistance increased and he felt a surge of relief. "Ah…here we are…"

With a pop that made _him _flinch, the ball of her shoulder re-seated itself and almost immediately, he could feel the tension drain out of her. She sighed, her body going lax against his as he slowly lowered her arm. Knowing that there was still more to be done, Khan gently urged her forward and then shifted himself around so that he was kneeling behind her, the base of the control console at his back. Eyeing her right shoulder blade, he brought his hand up and began massaging the affected area.

There was a reason for this – a sound, medically necessary reason; a fact that he very sternly reminded himself of when she let out a tiny groan of what sounded like utter satisfaction. A moment later, she rolled her head toward the injured shoulder; baring the long, curving line of her neck to him. Mouth gone dry and eyes riveted to the spot where black uniform met smooth skin, Khan gave himself a mental shake.

There was a reason for this. A sound…medically necessary…

She gave another groan and he very nearly cursed out loud; the low, rasping sound sending a shiver of want along each and every nerve-ending he possessed. He closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself and failing entirely. Perhaps it would help, he thought desperately, if he told _her _why he was massaging her back – perhaps hearing the words out loud would help him to realize the truth of them.

"Forgive my familiarity," he said, each word said slowly, lest he trip over them. "I am merely ensuring that the scapula migrated properly. In addition, your deltoid, trapezius and rotator cuff muscles are locked tight and pulling hard on a joint that has seen enough discomfort for one day."

She groaned. _Again_. This time, the surge of longing he felt nearly bent him in half.

"No apology necessary," she said as she dropped her head backwards against his shoulder, melting into his touch, "not if you keep doing this."

Her head tipped even further back, another throaty groan slipping past her lips even as the soft, rounded curve of her cheek brushed against his. Khan, laughing with sheer disbelief, had to close his eyes against a wave of lust so thick that it nearly drowned him. Struggling against it – nearly dizzy with it – he curved himself around her, turning his face into hers and savoring the sweetness of her skin against his parted lips.

"I take it," he said thickly, his mouth gone bone dry, "that I am acquitting myself admirably then."

_That _caught her attention. She stiffened in his arms and he froze, even as he memorized the feel of her against him, certain that she was about to retreat…

"Well now…isn't this interesting."

And just that swiftly, it all came crashing down around his ears.

_Marcus_.

It was Khan's turn to stiffen now, his hands pausing mid-massage. He grit his teeth, biting down hard on the swiftly sparked fury that wanted nothing more than to flare up and _consume _the man where he stood.

"Dare I ask what exactly is going on here?"

Smug and insufferable, the question needled Khan, burrowing beneath his skin with an efficiency that he knew was entirely intentional. Regardless, he snapped his head around, unable to restrain his glare. Marcus had not come alone, but it was to him that Khan's eyes went, ignoring the other two as if they were not even there. And Marcus, wearing a sneering leer that only provoked Khan further, stared squarely back at him, eyes dancing with triumph.

Just that quickly, all of the warmth that had filled him – that _she _had inspired – drained away, leaving him cold and empty once more. He could see the approval in Marcus' face…he was pleased by what he had seen. _Ecstatically _pleased.

_While I'm making sure you jump through Marcus' hoops, I'm also supposed to learn you. To earn your trust and to be anything that I need to be in order to—in the Admiral's words—secure your loyalty. He even went so far as to suggest that I should seduce you._

Those words – _her _words, from all those weeks ago – cut through his mind like a saw blade, jagged and tearing. She had told him the truth then with a bluntness that had both surprised and intrigued him…even as he had summarily dismissed the possibility of her ever succeeding, even if she _did _elect to try.

_...be anything that I need to be..._

Could he have misjudged their interactions so egregiously? Could she truly be that skillful a liar?

Still glaring at Marcus – despite his inner turmoil, he categorically _refused _to be the first to look away – he felt Rebecca ease herself away from him, shifting forward into his peripheral vision as she leaned around his body to face the door.

"Admiral Marcus," she acknowledged, her voice perfectly even. "Good of you to drop in, sir. We weren't expecting you."

Khan turned to study her, eyes tracing a profile wiped clean of every ounce of the pain she must certainly have still been feeling. Instead, she looked as she ever did – calm and so utterly unaffected that it turned his stomach.

…_be anything that I need to be…_

Yes, he realized, with chilling certainly. Yes, she absolutely was thatskillful a liar.

"Obviously," Marcus said, attempting to snap the word, but far too pleased to manage it. "Now answer the question, Lieutenant…what the hell is going on?"

Eyes never straying from her face, though she ignored him with infuriating ease, Khan watched as Lieutenant Duval – not Rebecca, he reminded himself sharply; _never _Rebecca – attempted to rise, her façade so complete that she forgot about her own injury. The minute she put even the slightest pressure on her right arm, she fell backward, bumping against him as she cursed and cradled the injured appendage.

He moved without thinking; that acknowledgment of pain sending him surging to his feet. It was not until he was staring down the length of the arm that he was offering her that he felt the first, faint stirring of disgust with himself.

She had not lied to him; had played precisely the part that she had specifically _told _him that she was meant to play…and he had fallen for it anyway. Even now – even _knowing_ – he still could not help himself. As she slipped her small hand into his, slender fingers sliding across his palm, he felt his heart give a traitorous jolt; felt his blood sing when he pulled her gently to her feet to find those deceptively clear green eyes looking straight up into his.

…_be anything that I need to be…_

He dropped her hand, dragging his eyes from hers before turning crisply away to face Marcus, channeling his anger at himself toward a much more satisfying target. "This is a testing range, Admiral. Even you possess intelligence enough to infer the answer to that question."

Marcus only smiled all the wider. "Well, I see a gun," he drawled, nodding his head toward the weapon lying, forgotten, on the floor. "And I see a target." He nodded the other way, indicating the untouched target at the far end of the firing range. "But what I fail to see, is why testing that gun on that target required the two of you to cuddle up on the floor."

It was intolerable. The entire, ridiculous situation was just utterly intolerable, and somehow managing to grow even more so with every miserable second that passed. To be laughed at, and by thisdetestable _wretch _of a man…

"We were hardly _cuddling_, sir. The Commander was helping me…"

"Oh, it certainly looked like he was…"

Khan went rigid, furious to the point of detonation. One more word…one more mocking word, and he would remove that jeering smirk from the old man's face with his bare and inevitably blood-soaked hands…

Lieutenant Duval, her arm held carefully across her middle, stepped forward, putting herself in the middle, Khan at her back as she faced Marcus. It was a bold move – she knew perfectly well that she would be a bug easily swatted, should he choose to attack – and it showed yet again just how well she could read him.

"The weapon lying at your feet, Admiral," she began, putting just enough annoyance in the words to make it seem as though she had actually been _offended_ by her commanding officer's taunts, "is the palpable proof of the Commander's hard work that you had requested during our last meeting. I didn't want to bring it to you until we had fired it for ourselves and established that it was working as the Commander intended that it should. If you look down-range, you'll see from what little remains of the target, that the _first _test – fired by the Commander – was wildly successful. When I attempted the second test, the weapon kicked harder than I had anticipated and it knocked my shoulder out of joint. What you walked in on was the Commander being good enough to relocate the dislocation for me."

Khan shifted his gaze then, eyes boring into the back of her head and only vaguely noting that Marcus had moved down the length of the range away from them.

Good. She was very, _very _good.

Rebecca Duval was the most accomplished sort of liar that there was – the sort who could lie with the truth as easily as they could with a falsehood.

"Vazquez, Allen…clear the room."

Marcus' voice had changed entirely with that order, stripped clean of his earlier gloating and turning crisp and professional. The work, no doubt, of her extraordinary talent at manipulation, which appeared to extended just as easily to her handlers as it did to her targets.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been impressed to the point of admiration. As it was, the evidence of her skills left him cold and fiercely bitter. Oh, but she had done her job well; manipulated him in ways that he never would have imagined possible.

But he knew her game now. He knew _her _now…

…and he would never forget what she was _ever _again.

"So the weapon works."

The sharp, business-like precision of the comment pulled Khan from his thoughts, finding that he, Marcus and Lieutenant Duval were now alone in the room. He shifted his gaze down range to where Marcus was standing, his anger and frustration humming just beneath the surface. "Of course the weapon works," he snarled, offended all over again by the constant questioning of his abilities.

"A single shot did this?"

"Yes, sir," the Lieutenant confirmed, a hint of pride coloring both the affirmation and the honorific attached to it.

Seething, Khan watched Marcus walk back toward them, his fingers itching for the weapon that lay at his feet. It would be so easy. A single shot…

_Yes_, his common sense hissed from beneath his fury, _a single shot…and they will be lost to you forever. You are subjecting yourself to this for a __**reason**_**. **_Stop allowing your emotions to cloud your better judgment._

Gritting his teeth, he lowered his eyes to the floor, trying very hard to master himself.

"I believe I need to see that."

Khan went very still, his eyes darting over to the discarded weapon. Marcus wanted to see, did he? Well then, _let _him see. Perhaps then he would better realize who, precisely, he was dealing with.

Moving with only a fraction of the speed that he was capable of, Khan swept the weapon up from the floor, turned and fired, barely even pausing to take aim. A moment later – the remains of the second dummy littering both the air and the floor – he turned around, the weapon held across his chest and his head held high and proud.

Marcus saw none of it though, his attention caught and held by the carnage down range. Lieutenant Duval, he noted sourly, was looking decidedly elsewhere as well, though her eyes were for Marcus alone.

_A loyal dog_, he sneered to himself, _seeking the scraps from her master's table. How could I have allowed myself to imagine otherwise?_

"So to summarize," Marcus began, his eyes swinging around to look at the weapon still held tight in Khan's hands, "Khan shoots, the target is decimated." He nodded toward the Lieutenants injured arm. "You shoot, it dislocates your shoulder." Finally, he turned to face Khan fully, looking him straight in the eye and cocking a brow. "I think we can all see the problem there."

He sounded almost reasonable. Khan found that he hated _that _even more than he had the old man's gloating. It was too…_normal_. As if they really were working _together_, a thought that made him sick to even contemplate. "You wanted a working weapon that functioned beyond your current capabilities," he snapped, his hatred for the Admiral leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "I have given you that and more."

"Yes, you have," Marcus acknowledged, very nearly _smiling_. "But I'm not arming super-humans, Khan. I need my Agents to be able to fire the damn thing without it inflicting bodily harm."

"A simple matter of adjusting the power sequencing," Khan ground out. "The essentials of your demand have been met; the rest is merely a matter of fine tuning."

"We'll get it worked out," the Lieutenant chimed in, stepping across the empty space between them to place herself back at his side. "He'll tinker, I'll test and within the next few days, we'll have it exactly where it needs to be."

He would not look at her. He _refused _to look at her. She made it sound so simple, so honest. So _real_. As if she meant every word…as if they were truly a _we_. It would have been so easy to believe her in that moment, and judging by the look on Marcus' face, he did.

Precisely as she had intended that he should…

"Hmmm," Marcus hummed, his smile turning knowing once more, "just look at the pair of you…quite the little united front you've got going on here. It's a far cry from the last time I was in a room with you both, I'll say that."

Disgusted – with himself, more than anyone else – Khan shot Marcus a sneering look. "Necessity, it would seem, breeds cooperation."

Smiling even wider, Marcus gave a short nod. "So it does." He turned then to look at the Lieutenant, almost glowing with approval. "I knew you were the right Agent for this assignment, Duval."

Just that quickly, the simmering fury began to boil over once more and just as it approached critical mass and he lost what tenuous self-control he had managed to scrape together, Lieutenant Duval rushed forward into the breach.

"Thank you, sir," she said, moving forward and once more putting herself between them. "After everything, I truly appreciate hearing that."

Khan glared at the back of her head. She was acting on her own behalf, he knew; saving the situation for her own purposes and to her own benefit…but it did not change the fact that her innate good sense had just saved him as well. Had she not stepped forward, he would have committed a capital error, for which his people would have paid the highest price.

"Now if you will forgive me for saying, sir," she continued, stepping forward and extending a hand toward the door in clear invitation, "we have work to do and Khan works best without an audience. Allow me to escort you out, Admiral?"

She was so perfectly controlled. So perfectly sensible. So perfectly…_everything_.

She handled two extraordinarily powerful men as if they were mere putty in her tiny, infinitely capable hands, and she did it in such a way that it was nearly impossible to recognize that she was doing it at all.

He wanted to hate her for that.

He hated the fact that he could not manage to even more.

"Oh, absolutely, absolutely," Marcus said happily with a negligent wave of his hand. "Far be it from me to get in the way of your…budding partnership. Lead the way, Lieutenant." He turned and looked at Khan one last time, grin stretched from ear to ear. "I look forward to further progress, _Commander Harrison_."

Khan only stared back at him, far more controlled than he had been only moments before – _thanks to her_, his traitorous mind whispered. He would not give the old man the satisfaction of a reaction.

A moment later, the Lieutenant had hurried Marcus out the door and it had shut firmly behind them, leaving him alone in the blessed silence of the range. Heaving out a heavy breath – he had anticipated such a simple morning when he had left their quarters – he let his chin fall toward his chest, eyes falling closed.

He had been pulled in so many different directions; his mind shifting from certainty to confusion and back to certainty again too often for so short a period of time. It pained him to admit, even to himself, but he was…confused.

Worse, he was confused with _himself_.

He was convinced now of her duplicity…and yet, somehow, it did not at all lessen the effect she had on him. Even now, he felt drawn to her in a way that he simply did not understand. In a way that he was not certain he even _wanted _to understand.

"Relax, Duval. He won't touch me. He might run off at the mouth, but he'd never actually lay a finger on me."

Khan lifted his head, eyes blinking open as Marcus' voice, distant but clear to his hyper-aware ears, floated back through the closed door.

"You're a hell of a lot more confident about that than I am, sir."

He could not help it – he smiled at that; a tiny grin that lifted the corner of his mouth. She really had learned to read him very well indeed. A wonder that Marcus did not pay her more heed. But then, from what he had seen, he rather doubted that Marcus fully understood how masterful she truly was.

"Always such a worrier. Don't forget, Duval…I've got that man's balls in a vice. A very big, very effective vice. Feel free to remind him of that if he steps so much as a toe out of line…you'll be amazed at the results."

"That's an excellent suggestion, sir. I will definitely keep it in mind."

Fury, righteous and swift, consumed him – the flame of it burning hotter and brighter than any yet. She would keep that in mind, would she? She would keep it in mind to use his people…his _family_…as a bargaining tool? Khan's eyes narrowed, his hands tightening their grip on the weapon. Drawn to her or not, she would learn very quickly how truly ill-advised an idea _that _was.

They had continued talking while he was not paying attention, but he zeroed back in on their conversation, every word spoken only increasing the re-ignition of the blaze that she had only recently put out.

"…you turned it around when I was positive you couldn't. Keep it up – keep getting me these kind of results – and I guarantee there will be a promotion waiting on the other side of this assignment."

"I'll hold you to that, sir."

That was enough. He had heard entirely enough. Closing his eyes once more, Khan tuned them out, focusing his thoughts decidedly elsewhere. It was time, he told himself firmly, to check this growing fascination with the woman. Yes, she was impressive – but she was also treacherous. He had work to do, beyond the idiocy of Marcus' demands. He had seventy-two people to save and he could not afford weakness.

And she would be a weakness. If he allowed himself to continue as he had been, she would most assuredly prove a weakness.

Opening his eyes, he walked over to the control console, dropping the weapon to the ground and propping it against the base. Then, he walked back to where he had been standing – hands at his sides and eyes on the door that he knew she would be coming through at any moment.

He could not allow her to think that she had fooled him, even for a moment. He knew, if they were to have any hope of working together effectively – which they did need to, no matter how little he liked it – that he would need to make her understand that he knew her game.

And that he would not play an unwitting part in it any longer.

Finally, the door opened and she came rushing back in, freezing just inside when she found him standing exactly where he had been and staring fiercely at her. Before his eyes, she changed – the coolness that had appeared with Marcus, vanished…

…and suddenly, he was looking once more at the proud, passionate, unguarded woman who had rested so trustingly in his arms in this very room…

Jaw clenching – _lies, lies, lies_ – he lifted his chin, staring at her with furious disapproval. "Why so hesitant, _Lieutenant_? I would expect to see you _glowing _with satisfaction at having reclaimed your coveted role as the Admiral's lapdog."

He expected her to puff up at that, as she always had in the past. But, in typical Rebecca Duval fashion, she did precisely the _opposite – _she deflated. Her shoulders dropped and she shook her head tiredly.

"You heard all of that then?"

His head snapped down, eyes boring into hers – he would not be fooled. "Every word – both said and unsaid."

She sighed then, rubbing at her eyes in seeming misery. "We discussed this," she said tiredly. "Yesterday morning, I _told _you how it would have to go. He is my superior officer and this is my life. I was just…"

"Doing your job," he cut in, throwing the words at her like knives. "Yes, I know. I _remember_. And you do it well, Lieutenant Duval. I eagerly await hearing your particular version of Marcus' favorite threat. Tell me, how will _you _go about using the people I love as leverage against me?"

Her head came up, eyes snapping to his and to his surprise, she stalked straight over to him, leaving only scant inches between them. Looking up at him, she did not waver, did not so much as flinch – she stared up into his eyes with a determination far larger than someone so small should have been able to contain.

"I'm gonna say this one time and only one time," she began, her voice gone hard and sharp, "so you listen to me and you listen _good_. I am many things, Khan…some of them good, most of them not so good. I am, as you've so often pointed out, a paid liar. I've done terrible things to equally as terrible people and even worse things to good people because I do my job and I follow the orders I'm given and I don't question them. I don't make friends and I don't make promises because the nature of my life means that I'm never going to be able to keep either of them. But right here, right now, I'm going to break my own rule. I'm going to make you a promise and you are going to believe me because, for whatever reason, I've never lied to you and I don't _want _to lie to you."

She leaned in even closer then, her body nearly brushing his and Khan stared down at her, utterly transfixed by the fierceness of this woman.

"I will never use your people against you. _Ever_. Tarnished as it might be, you have my word on that – Marcus and his piss-poor suggestions be damned."

She was not lying.

Try as he might, deny as he would, he could not ignore the evidence of his eyes.

Rebecca Duval, who lied as easily as she breathed, was staring up at him with such naked, righteous honesty that he knew – _knew_ – straight through to the very marrow of his bones…

_She was not lying_.

Like the sun burning through fog, the confusion that had plagued him melted away and suddenly, he saw as he had not been able to before. He saw Rebecca Duval with absolute and unflinching certainty…and he finally understood what she had been telling him all along without actually saying a word.

She _always _followed orders…but with him, she had not.

She made no effort to befriend _anyone_…but with him, she had.

She _never _made promises…but for him, she did.

Rebecca Duval, who by her own admission was every bit as ruthless and opportunistic as he was, was also every bit as drawn to _him_ as he was to _her…_and every bit as confused by how to handle it as he was.

Sighing deep as he finally let go of the anger he had been holding onto so tightly, Khan let his shoulders drop along with his defenses and he lowered his head toward hers. Relief, sweet and vindicating, trickled through his veins – it had not been his imagination after all. Her reactions…he _did _affect her…

"You believe me?"

The question had been sharp, almost shocked and he watched her eyes darken with something that looked astonishingly like longing. She wanted this, from him. She wanted his trust.

Just as he wanted hers.

"Yes," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Her entire face lit up, eyes glowing and lips parting in a hesitant, yet slightly terrified smile that made her look oddly young and deceptively fragile. "Thank you, Khan."

It was enough. In the silence that fell between them after that, Khan decided that they had been through enough emotional upheaval for one day. Straightening, he took a small but marked step away from her, looking down at her now with what he hoped was a fairly neutral expression; turning the conversation toward a more pressing – and far safer – subject.

"How is your shoulder?"

Rebecca – yes, _Rebecca_ – followed his lead without question, as apparently eager to sound the retreat as he was. "Hurts," she admitted, rubbing at her injured shoulder even as she grimaced lightly, "but nothing like before."

A shiver of guilt went through him and Khan found himself staring at the spot where her fingers lay across her shoulder. "I will better remember, in future," he said, getting the words out before they choked him, "the target user of these weapons I am building with far greater accuracy than I did this one."

It was an apology…of a sort. Or at least, as close to one as he was comfortable with offering.

"Probably a good idea," she said, the small smile on her face telling him better than words could that she understood. "I don't particularly want to play this scene again."

She was drawing him in again, when he had no desire for her to do so. At least, not yet. He needed to think, to collate the influx of new data that he had obtained over the past…had it really been less than an _hour_?

"Nor do I," he said, stepping around her to retrieve the weapon yet again, tucking it in against his side. "I was not merely posturing for Marcus' benefit, by the way. It will be a fix easily made."

"Good, because I still really want to shoot that gun."

He smiled. How could he not? There were parts of her he found infuriating and parts of her that he found irresistible…and her enthusiasm for heavy weaponry fell firmly into the latter category. When he lifted his head and found her smiling right back, green eyes sparkling with impish delight, he felt an answering grin pull at his own lips.

It had been his experience in life that great reward never came without inherent risk. If that held true, then the potential reward laying before him was virtually unimaginable…because Rebecca Duval was, without question, the most perilous risk he had ever taken.


End file.
